


You Are the Only Safe Haven that I Know

by whisperedstory



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Curse Breaking, Cursed Jaskier | Dandelion, Don't copy to another site, First Time, Fix-It, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Takes Care of Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, they're soft and stupidly in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 13:21:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29999949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whisperedstory/pseuds/whisperedstory
Summary: "Do you need anything? A bath, obviously, but anything else? Any wounds that need cleaning or stitching?" Jaskier asks, the words tumbling out of his mouth too fast. "I can help. Do you need me to get something?""Jask.""Don't," Jaskier snaps and his shoulders fall. "Just… please, don't.""Don't what?" Geralt asks. He feels like he missed half of the conversation and he's starting to get frustrated, unsure about what is wrong with Jaskier and how to help him. "What the fuck is going on?"Jaskier swallows and licks his lips. "Just tell me what you need me to do. Please."————Geralt comes across Jaskier in a small town by accident and asks him to travel with him again, hoping things will go back to the way they were before the fight. But Jaskier is different—he's more subdued and cautious, and entirely too agreeable. Geralt doesn't know what's wrong with him, but he's determined to fix it.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 65
Kudos: 779





	You Are the Only Safe Haven that I Know

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by [dancing_adrift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift) <3

Rain is pouring down heavily as Geralt swings his sword through the air one final time. It slices through flesh as he beheads the last of the ghouls and he pants, finally coming to a stop. Carding wet, dirty hair out of his face, Geralt surveys the scene around him, the graveyard left a mess of dead ghouls and guts and dirt. Oddly fitting, he thinks, and picks up the head of his final kill. Someone else will have to take care of the rest and Geralt doesn't care who. He just wants a hot bath and a bed.

He trudges his way back into town, Roach's bridle curled in his free hand. He heads right for the house of the blacksmith who approached him about the ghouls when he arrived in town earlier. He ignores the twinge in his shoulder and pain in his side. It's early enough in the night that the taverns are still busy and a few townspeople—most of them already drunk—are staggering around in the streets. Geralt ignores all of them, trailing blood and dirt behind him.

When he reaches the blacksmith's house, he pounds on the door, uncaring of the hour. It takes a while, but when the door is finally pulled open, Geralt just pushes into the house past the startled looking man and drops the ghoul's head on the floor.

"What—" the blacksmith sputters.

"The ghouls are all dead. Here's your proof," Geralt says gruffly. 

"It's the middle of the night," the blacksmith exclaims.

"Yes," Geralt says calmly. "Can't hunt ghouls during daylight."

He holds out his hand, waiting. The blacksmith looks like he wants to argue, but then he scoffs and turns. Geralt waits patiently, until he returns with a small pouch of coin. Geralt takes it, coins clacking together, and judges the weight in his hand before he nods. 

"Is there an inn in town?" he asks.

The blacksmith hesitates, but then he nods. "Down the road and then go right," he says. "And, uh, thank you, witcher." 

Geralt grunts and nods. He turns on his heel and stalks out. He passed an inn when he got into town and he hopes he will be able to procure a room for the night and a hot bath to clean up despite the late hour. 

He gets Roach settled in the stables behind the inn first before he goes inside. The tavern downstairs isn't packed, but there are still a decent amount of people there, most of whom look up as he enters and track his steps as he crosses the room.

To his surprise, the barmaid doesn't look scared as he approaches, though her eyes widen as she takes him in. "Ah, the White Wolf!" she declares, almost like she expected him.

Geralt clears his throat. "I need a room." 

The barmaid gives him a tight smile. "We don't have any free rooms, sir witcher," she says. Geralt grunts, grits his teeth. "But your bard is here." 

The words stop Geralt. It's been close to a year since he last saw Jaskier, since the _damn_ mountain and the endless months that followed. "My—" he starts and stops. "Jaskier?" 

The barmaid nods, blonde curls bouncing. "A real morose lad, that one," she says and Geralt frowns. 

Jaskier is many things, but morose usually isn't one of them. Even when things got bad, Jaskier always kept an air of cheerfulness about him, especially around strangers. Always laughing and chatting and flirting. 

"Played nothing but sad songs all night until someone told him to stop. Went right up to his room after that; didn't even play the whole set like we'd agreed upon, but I didn't have the heart to stop him," the barmaid continues and grimaces. "Wouldn't have been good for business anyway. People come here for a chat and a bit of cheer, you know?" 

Geralt grunts. "What room is he in?" he asks.

"Up the stairs and down the hall, last one on the left." 

Geralt nods and doesn't wait for her to say more before he heads for the stairs leading upstairs. To Jaskier.

  
  
*  
  


Geralt knocks on Jaskier's door and listens to the silence that follows. He knows Jaskier is in the room; he can hear the rustling of fabric and a slightly too fast heartbeat inside and the scent of Jaskier lingers in the hallway, sweet musk and lavender soap. 

"Jaskier," Geralt calls and knocks again. "Open the door."

There's some shuffling, quick footsteps, and then the door is wrenched open. 

Jaskier looks at him, expression pinched. His hair is disheveled and he's discarded his doublet, and Geralt can see the hilt of a dagger sticking out from the waistband of his trousers. 

"Geralt. What a surprise," Jaskier says. 

"Hmm." 

"How can I help you?" Jaskier asks and the cheer in his voice sounds false. 

Geralt doesn't answer and looks Jaskier up and down instead; he's lost a bit of weight and there are dark circles under his eyes, and there's something there, in the tightness around his mouth and weariness in his eyes, that makes worry tug at Geralt's stomach. 

"What's going on?" he asks.

Jaskier's expression doesn't slip as he says, "Nothing." 

Geralt doesn't believe the answer for one second and the knot of worry in his belly grows. He's seen Jaskier in all kinds of states, upset and sad and heartbroken, but something about the way he looks doesn't sit right with him. "Can I come in?" he asks.

"I'm rather tired, Geralt," Jaskier replies. "I just got done playing and I was about to retire to bed." 

"So I heard," Geralt snarks. "Let me in, Jaskier." 

Jaskier presses his lips together, expression shuttering. "Of course, yes," he says and steps back, spreading his arms out. "Come on inside. Welcome to my humble abode for the night, witcher." 

Geralt hums and steps into the room. Jaskier wrinkles his nose as he does, gaze sweeping over him. It's so familiar it makes Geralt's heart ache a little—he's tried his best to ignore it, the hole Jaskier's absence left behind, told himself it was better this way, for Jaskier if not himself, but he's missed him. 

"You need a bath," Jaskier states.

"Hmm. No more free rooms," Geralt says.

"Ah. Well, a night in the stables it is then, huh?" Jaskier replies, tone snippy. 

Geralt sighs. "Jaskier," he starts, taking another step forward, closer to Jaskier. Jaskier turns his head, just enough to not meet his eyes anymore. "I'm sorry. For what I said. For how I treated you."

Jaskier hums and keeps pointedly looking away, lips still pressed in a tight line. 

"Jaskier, please," Geralt continues. "I fucked up. I'm sorry." 

Jaskier's shoulders slump a little. "What do you want me to say, Geralt? Really, I don't know what you want from me."

Geralt nods. "I understand. I wasn't a good friend to you. I wasn't a friend at all," he admits. "I want to do better. Let me make it up to you." 

Jaskier huffs and runs a hand down his face. He looks tired, worn. Geralt has never seen him like this—even when things were absolute shit, when Jaskier had nothing but complaints on his lips, he was never defeated, never lost that glint in his eyes and that hope that things would be fine, that they would be better. The Jaskier he knows is endless energy and tenacity. 

"Put your things down," Jaskier says, and Geralt hates how he sounds like he's giving in to something he doesn't _really_ want. "And then go call for a bath. The bed is big enough for two."

  
  
*  
  


They've shared a bed often enough, even a bedroll a few times when it got so cold at night that Jaskier's teeth wouldn't stop chattering. It's never been an issue—Jaskier never had a problem with being close to him, with touching. More often than not, Geralt woke up with Jaskier's limbs wrapped around him, his face tucked into the crook of Geralt's neck and Geralt never admitted it, but he didn't exactly mind.

Now, lying next to each other in a bed that's barely wide enough to fit them both, it feels like there's a rift between them that's insurmountable. 

Geralt knows he can't fix what he broke between them in one night. It's going to take time and he wants to make sure there _is_ time, that Jaskier won't get up in the morning and be gone. Right now, he isn't so sure of that. 

"I want us to travel together again," he says quietly, knowing Jaskier isn't asleep.

He feels Jaskier stiffen next to him, before he lets out a quiet grunt, barely an acknowledgement that he's listening.

"Please. Come with me," Geralt continues. He curls his hand into a fist to keep himself from reaching out, from touching Jaskier and pulling him close.

"Yes. Of course," Jaskier says, but he doesn't sound excited or happy. 

Geralt frowns, peers at Jaskier's face in the dark room and feels completely out of his depth. He doesn't know what to say. Usually Jaskier is the one who initiates conversations and keeps them going, and Geralt doesn't know how to do this, so he doesn't say anything at all.

If Jaskier is going to come with him, there's some time for him to figure out the right words to say, he hopes.

  
  
*  
  


The tension between them hasn't eased the next morning. They barely talk as they rise and get ready, and breakfast is quick and uneasy.

It's only when they enter the stables and Jaskier sees Roach that his face lights up, and Geralt feels himself relax a little as he watches Jaskier greet her. The silence between them isn't something that Geralt is used to; Jaskier always talks to him, never stops most of the time. Geralt doesn't know how to handle Jaskier's silence.

"Roach. I missed you, girl. Did you miss me?" Jaskier murmurs, stroking her muzzle. He laughs when Roach leans in and nuzzles him, nipping at his hair. "Yes, yes. It's been a long time, hasn't it?"

Geralt turns away, giving them a bit of time to get reacquainted as he saddles Roach and secures his saddle bags as well as Jaskier's things. 

"I don't have any treats," he hears Jaskier says quietly, his tone apologetic. "Next town we're in, I'll try to make some coin and buy you something, okay?"

The confirmation that Jaskier plans to stick around, at least for a little while, loosens something inside of Geralt for now. It means he has some time to fix them. 

He opens his saddle bag and retrieves the last apple from his supplies. "Here," he says and tosses it to Jaskier when he looks up. "You two can share it."

Jaskier catches the apple with a soft _oh_. "Thank you," he says, flashing Geralt a brief, small smile. It feels like a win.

  
  
*  
  


It stops raining sometime during the night. The roads are muddy and the air is damp, but the sky is only partially cloudy, pinks and blues breaking through as the sun rises. They head west. There's no rumor of monsters nearby that Geralt can follow and he picks the direction at random. 

It grows warmer as the morning passes and Geralt takes off his cloak, seeing Jaskier following suit out of the corner of his eye moments later. He slings it over his arm, carrying it, and Geralt holds out his hand without turning to look. "Give me that," he says and Jaskier passes the bundle of fabric to him right away.

It's a nice morning and having Jaskier with him again soothes something deep inside Geralt. The silence that is still lingering between them feels awkward, though, a tension between them that Geralt is eager to break. He clears his throat when he finds it has dragged on too long.

"I found Ciri," he says, because that's the first thing that comes to mind, warmth blooming in his chest just at the thought of her. 

He sees Jaskier's steps falter. "Oh," he breathes. "Oh, thank gods. I heard about Cintra. I wondered if… I'm so glad, Geralt." 

"Hmm." 

"Where is she? Is she safe?"

Geralt's lips twitch up into a smile. "She is," he says. "She's with Yennefer right now." 

"Yennefer. Of course," Jaskier says, his tone bitter. Geralt feels a little guilty bringing her name up, knowing it probably reminds Jaskier of the last time they all were together, but he bites back yet another apology.

"We figured for now she's safer with Yen than on the path with me, since Nilfgaard is still looking for her," he explains and grimaces. "And she needs training, of the magical kind."

"Oh shit. Pavetta's daughter through and through, huh?"

"You could say that," Geralt says and snorts. "She could bring an entire house down with a single scream."

"And Yennefer knows all about bringing houses down," Jaskier mutters and then his step falters again. "Sorry." 

Geralt huffs out a laugh. "Well, you're not wrong."

"What's she like?" Jaskier asks quietly. Geralt glances at him, lips twitching up into a smile.

"Fierce. Stubborn. _Strong_ ," he says, and realizes as he speaks that he might as well be describing Jaskier. Or Yennefer. He watches Jaskier smile.

"You care about her," he says, and he doesn't sound surprised. Jaskier's never believed any of the rumors about witchers, never thought Geralt wasn't capable of feeling, but the fact that he isn't even a little stunned that Geralt cares about Ciri, the Child Surprise he so adamantly said he didn't want anything to do with, makes Geralt's chest ache. Jaskier has always, _always,_ believed in him and apparently not even Geralt hurling the most hurtful things he could think of at him on top of a mountain changed that, could make him think Geralt is heartless.

"Yes," Geralt admits. "I… have no idea what the fuck I'm doing with her, but I'm trying. I should have done that a lot sooner. But you knew that." 

"Hmm." 

"You can say it," Geralt grumbles. 

"Say what?"

"I told you so," Geralt says and Jaskier ducks his head and snorts. "I'm sorry. That I never listened to you. You were right about a lot of things." 

"You can stop apologizing, Geralt. It's in the past; it's quite alright now," Jaskier replies, but the easiness of the words doesn't quite translate in his tone. 

  
  
*  
  


Geralt notices that Jaskier is starting to slow down early that afternoon. He shoots him a few glances, trying to see if there's something obviously wrong, but there's no limp in his step or any other sign of pain. He does look exhausted though and Geralt brings Roach to a stop and dismounts. 

"Get on Roach," he says.

Jaskier looks at him with surprise. "Are you sure?" he asks, though he's already scrambling to swing himself up onto the saddle. Geralt shoots him an amused look.

"Hmm," he hums and pats Roach's neck, handing Jaskier the reins. He's rarely seen Jaskier on top of a horse and he knows it's his own fault, because he hardly ever let Jaskier ride Roach. He's good at it though, obviously comfortable and Geralt knows it comes from years of riding as a child. Roach is calm and patient, the way she is with very few. 

There isn't much Geralt can give Jaskier, to show him he's sorry, that he's going to do better, and this is a small thing, but Geralt hopes Jaskier sees it for what it is—a sign that Geralt is making an effort.

  
  
*  
  


They make camp in a small clearing by a gurgling stream that evening. The sun is already low in the sky. Geralt lets Jaskier get Roach settled while he scans the area, making sure the camp is as secure as possible. 

"I'll go hunt something for dinner," he says. "Get a fire started while I'm gone."

Jaskier nods, setting the last of their things aside and then all but scrambling to go collect wood, an unhappy look on his face. Geralt watches him leave with a frown, cataloguing the way Jaskier moves. He doesn't seem to be in pain, there's no scent of blood or fear in the air, but something is obviously wrong. There are these short moments, sometimes, where he seems distressed. They vanish quickly, but an air of unease remains, clinging to Jaskier almost all the time now.

Roach neighs and paws at the ground, and Geralt sighs. He moves closer to her and strokes her neck reassuringly. "Shh. It's okay. I know something is up with him, but I'll make it better," he murmurs to her. "Keep an eye on him while I'm gone, okay?"

He gives Roach a final pat and then goes off in the other direction of Jaskier to hunt. If it was just him, he'd probably settle for just some meat and some of the bread he has, but he takes his time foraging and comes back to their camp with not just a large hare but some roots and wild spinach as well. There's a fire crackling, their bedrolls spread out on one side of the fire, and the waterskins have been refilled. 

"Want me to skin it?" Jaskier asks, nodding at the hare, and Geralt frowns and shakes his head. He knows Jaskier knows how to, but he also knows it's a task Jaskier hates and always happily left to Geralt. 

"I've got it," he grunts. "You can cut up the roots." 

"Sure," Jaskier says. "Thank you. For getting dinner."

Geralt's frown deepens and he nods stiffly. "Thank you for setting up camp," he replies, the words formal and awkward. It's all wrong, this thing between them, and Geralt hopes it's just a phase, that they just have to get used to each other again. It used to be so easy between them and he's only now realizing that—the way they fit together, moving around each other seamlessly and dividing tasks without having to talk about it. 

That night, he lies in his bedroll, staring up at the sky. Next to him, Jaskier sighs and shifts, clearly no closer to sleep than Geralt. Neither of them says a word.

  
  
*  
  


Jaskier is quieter now than Geralt remembers. 

His lute remains slung over his shoulder when they travel most of the time; he hums soft melodies under his breath sometimes, taps his fingers against his leg in a silent rhythm, but he hardly sings or talks. Surprisingly, it's not a change Geralt welcomes. 

He thought about it sometimes, what it would be like if they met again. He figured he'd have to apologize, have to grovel, but even then he never pictured Jaskier to be like this. To be quiet. He expected anger, shouting, hissed words or dismissive sarcasm. And then he thought, hoped, they would go back to normal, the road once again becoming filled with Jaskier's chatter and song. 

The quietness is unnerving and it sets Geralt on edge the same way Jaskier's inability to stay silent once did when they first started traveling together.

Jaskier is also unusually accommodating. He's always followed Geralt wherever he went, but he's never been shy to ask for things, to coax and bargain until Geralt made concessions—an extra night at an inn, a stop at a lake to bathe, a longer break that Jaskier spent fiddling with his lute or picking flowers he would feed to Roach or weave into crowns. Now, Jaskier doesn't ask for anything. He doesn't stray off the path when he sees a field of pretty flowers or a bush of ripe berries, doesn't badger Geralt into stopping early for the day because inspiration hit and he needs to compose, doesn't try talking Geralt into finding a town to stay in for the night. He seems almost happy when they don't, as if he's suddenly as eager to avoid people as Geralt always has been. 

Once upon a time, Geralt would have probably prefered Jaskier like this, but now it feels like he's walking with a shadow of the person he used to know and it feels all wrong.

  
  
*  
  


Geralt's worry spikes when they finally do make it to a town. He thought, maybe hoped, that Jaskier's strange behavior had to do with him. That he had to earn Jaskier's forgiveness, had to regain his trust, before things could get back to normal. That Jaskier was still mad, deep down, and wanted Geralt to prove himself. Geralt's been ready to work for it, to give Jaskier what he needs to fix this.

Their arrival in town earns them a few glares and distrustful looks, nothing that hasn't happened countless times before. Usually Jaskier either pointedly ignores this kind of behavior or vocally challenges people's conceptions about witchers, but now he's practically glued to Geralt's side as they walk down the cobbled streets.

"Are you okay?" Geralt asks quietly.

"Fine," Jaskier grits out and ducks his head down, hair falling into his face like a shield.

A man with a cart tries to pass them and grunts a sharp, "Get out of the way, lad." 

Jaskier, who is caught between the man and Geralt and Roach, tries to scramble out of the way away, despite having nowhere to go, and trips before Geralt can catch him. 

"Fuck," Geralt mutters and glares at the man while he helps Jaskier up.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," Jaskier says hastily, and his laugh sounds all wrong. 

"Are you hurt?" Geralt asks as Jaskier brushes off his clothes.

Jaskier glances at him, stepping aside as the man with the cart finally passes him. "Let's just keep going," he mutters, moving even closer into Geralt's space. "Find the notice board and see if there's something for you to do around here."

Geralt nods curtly and moves so Jaskier is between him and Roach. 

  
  
*  
  


"What do you think it is?" Jaskier asks, looking down at the crumpled piece of parchment Geralt ripped off the notice board.

"Kikimora, probably," Geralt says, riffling through his potion bag.

"Pay's pretty shoddy."

"Yeah," Geralt agrees. He finishes getting what he needs and grabs his swords, swinging them onto his back. He looks at Jaskier, sitting on one of the two narrow beds. 

"Stay here," he grunts. Jaskier presses his lips together and nods, the parchment making a crinkling noise as he grips it tightly.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," Geralt promises, and Jaskier nods again.

"Good luck. Stay safe," he says.

Geralt leaves with a nod. He half expects Jaskier to follow him. It would be far from the first time—Jaskier is far too reckless and far too drawn to trouble. But there are no footsteps following Geralt as he heads for the swamps outside of town, no flashes of a colorful doublet whenever Geralt glances back. 

Tracking the kikimora is more difficult than actually killing it. It's already been wounded, and while it's agitated and vicious, the wound is making it slower and sloppy and Geralt dispenses of it quickly with no more than a few bruises and scratches, his sword finding its aim easily and hacking away at it. 

Covered in goo and swamp water, Geralt trudges back into town with proof of his killing. He finds the alderman in the tavern that's connected to the inn he and Jaskier are staying at. The tavern is still bustling and Geralt skims the crowd for Jaskier. More than one head is turned to him, but none of the eyes staring at him are a familiar blue, and Geralt walks up to the alderman.

"There you go. My pay, please," he demands gruffly, dropping a severed leg onto the table. He wouldn't admit it, but he's eager to get back upstairs to their room, to Jaskier. There's a worry that has been tugging at his belly since they reunited and being apart from Jaskier suddenly feels wrong in a way it never did before, something telling him he needs to stick close to him to protect him.

The alderman makes a disgusted face.

"Of course, witcher," he says, disapproval clear in his tone, but he pulls a pouch of coin free and drops it onto the table. Geralt picks it up, peers inside and nods. 

"And what do I do with this?" the alderman asks, looking down at the leg.

Geralt shrugs. "Burn it," he suggests and turns, stopping at the bar before going up to their room. 

"I need a bath sent up to my room," he says and drops a few coins down onto the counter. "Some dinner too, if there's any left."

The barmaid nods. "Stew's gone, but I can send up some bread and cheese and cold meat," she says. "For your companion as well?"

Geralt frowns. "He hasn't eaten?"

"Hasn't been down here at all," the barmaid says with an unconcerned shrug.

Geralt draws his brow together and nods. "Food for two then, and some ale."

"Sure thing, witcher," she replies.

Geralt heads up the stairs to their room, worry settling more firmly in his stomach. When Jaskier hadn't followed him, he'd assumed he would perform—he usually does when he doesn't accompany Geralt and they're low on coin, too. He can remember very few times Jaskier chose to stay in their room instead of performing or having an ale and a chat with locals in a tavern when Geralt went out on a contract, and usually it was because Jaskier was sick or hurt. 

He pushes the door to their room open, not sure what to expect but expecting _something_. Jaskier is sitting on the same bed as before, leaning against the headboard with his knees drawn up. Hale and safe.

For a moment, Geralt isn't sure what to do, standing in the doorway of their room, dripping and dirty and staring at Jaskier.

"Everything okay?" Jaskier asks, as if _Geralt_ is the one who is acting strangely.

Geralt grunts and steps into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. "You didn't perform." 

"Ah. Yes, it would seem that way," Jaskier says and Geralt watches him tug at the sleeves of his doublet—a nervous habit, he knows. "How did things go with the kikimora? You look okay." 

"I am," Geralt says. "You didn't go down to eat either."

Jaskier looks at him, eyes wide. "Wasn't hungry."

"Jaskier," Geralt starts.

"Do you need anything? A bath, obviously, but anything else? Any wounds that need cleaning or stitching?" Jaskier asks, the words tumbling out of his mouth too fast. "I can help. Do you need me to get something?"

"Jask."

"Don't," Jaskier snaps and his shoulders fall. "Just… please, don't."

"Don't what?" Geralt asks. He feels like he missed half of the conversation and he's starting to get frustrated, unsure about what is wrong with Jaskier and how to help him. "What the fuck is going on?"

Jaskier swallows and licks his lips. "Just tell me what you need me to do. Please."

Geralt frowns. "I'm fine. I don't need you to do anything," he says. "Write or go downstairs and perform or just have an ale. Do whatever you want."

Jaskier's shoulders fall and he relaxes. "Thank you." 

"For what?" Geralt asks. He has no idea what is going on and he can feel the agitation rise in him, making him want to snap. Jaskier gives him a sad little smile and slips off the bed.

"Have you ordered a bath yet?" he asks and walks over to Geralt. "Come on, let me help you out of this. You're a right mess, witcher." 

"Jaskier." 

"Bath, Geralt. Do I need to go ask for one?"

"I already did," Geralt says. 

"Good," Jaskier murmurs and starts undoing clasps and buckles with practiced movements.

Geralt isn't sure what to do, what to ask, doesn't even have the beginning of a clue about what is going on, so he lets Jaskier help him out of his armor and usher him into the bath when it arrives. Jaskier sits behind him, washing his hair as Geralt scrubs the rest of himself clean, neither of them saying a word. He missed this—Jaskier's hands carding through his hair, lathering it with soap and rubbing oil into the ends, taking care of Geralt as if he's something worth taking care of. 

When Geralt is clean, Jaskier goes to sit down at the small table while Geralt dries off and gets dressed before joining him. They eat in silence at first before Geralt clears his throat.

"If you don't want to travel with me…" he starts, keeping his voice quiet, neutral.

Jaskier looks up and shakes his head. "No. No, Geralt, that's not it. I swear," he says. 

"Then what is it? Just tell me."

Jaskier's mouth twists into a grimace and he looks away. "I, uh, had a not so pleasant encounter with a mage."

"What happened?"

Jaskier shrugs. "I was performing. He recognized me," he says and lets out a bitter laugh. "Knew I was _the White Wolf's little pet_."

He spits the last words out and Geralt's insides freeze. Whatever happened, it's his fault. 

"Who was it? And what did he do?" Whoever this mage is, Geralt is going to find him and kill him. Whatever he did, if it resulted in Jaskier being like _this_ , barely being himself anymore, then he's going to find out what it's like to be at the wrong end of a witcher's sword.

Jaskier runs a hand over his face. "No fucking clue. He didn't introduce himself," he says and drops his hand down onto the table. "He thought it was funny to force me to be what all good little pets should be. _Obedient_."

"Jaskier," Geralt says, needing to know more and not really wanting to know any of it. 

"I have to follow orders. It's like a… a compulsion," Jaskier says. "I can't resist it; I tried. It's awful when I do and in the end I give in and do what I'm told anyway."

Geralt swallows, thinking of all the times in the last few days when he's told Jaskier to do something, when he's _made_ Jaskier do something whether he wanted to or not. There are some instances he remembers, and probably a lot more he doesn't, and nausea rolls around his stomach at the thought. 

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know," Jaskier admits. "I was trying very hard to make sure nobody figured it out. I was terrified of what people would do if they knew. I… I couldn't say no to anything."

"You don't trust me," Geralt surmises.

Jaskier looks at him, eyes wet, and sniffs. "I don't know," he admits. "What you said on the mountain… I was terrified of what would happen if you said something this time and there was no turning back for me. I was terrified of you sending me away again and me never being able to come back."

"Fuck, Jaskier."

Jaskier sniffs and wipes his eyes. "I'm sorry." 

"Don't. Don't you fucking be sorry. I mean, fuck, you can be, of course, I'm not telling you you can't. But you have nothing to apologize for," Geralt fumbles, and Jaskier gives him a wobbly smile and nods. "I'm the one who should be sorry. For the mountain. For making you do things you didn't want to do these past few days. Fuck, if there was anything…" 

"No. No, Geralt. I… well, I mostly tried to do things before you could tell me to," Jaskier says. "It's not that bad when I do that, because then it's still my own choice, you know?" 

"Hmm." 

"And you didn't tell me to do anything that was bad. I hate not having a choice, but you didn't know," Jaskier says gently. "Please don't beat yourself up over that. You always do that, but you didn't do anything wrong, Geralt, I promise."

"And," Geralt starts and curls his hand into a fist, trying to keep his breathing even, his heart rate calm. "And you're here because you want to be?"

"Yes," Jaskier says, looking at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes. " _Yes_."

Geralt nods. "We'll figure out how to break it," he says.

Jaskier looks at him and gives a shaky nod, his shoulders drooping. "Okay," he says and sighs. "I think I'm going to bed. I'm exhausted."

Geralt nods again. He needs more details, the exact phrasing of the curse if Jaskier remembers, but Jaskier does look tired and Geralt figures it can wait until tomorrow. He's not going to let anything happen to Jaskier until they've fixed things.

They get ready for bed in silence, but for once it doesn't feel tense. Geralt slips under the blanket and waits for Jaskier to get settled as well. He blows out the candle, basking the room in darkness. He lies down, back to the door, facing Jaskier.

"If you want to talk," he offers quietly, because if there's one thing Ciri has taught him is how much it can help. He's spent countless nights listening to her after she woke up from another nightmare, letting her get it all out and cry on his shoulder as he fumbled his way through words of comfort. 

In the bed next to his, Jaskier exhales loudly. "Not really. I… I had to do some things I didn't want to do, got into a few sticky situations, but I managed," he says, but there's a tone to his voice that makes bile rise up in Geralt's throat, thinking about all the things that could have happened. "I learned quickly that it was best to stay away from people as much as possible and not to draw too much attention to myself when I couldn't." 

"You're a bard." 

"Yeah. Coin's been a bit tight lately," Jaskier says with a huff. The bed creaks under him as he shifts. "Good night, Geralt." 

"Good night," Geralt mumbles. He lies still, listening to Jaskier toss and turn for a while before he finally settles and his breathing evens out. Geralt remains awake, looking at Jaskier's silent form, his swords resting against the frame of the bed within reach.

  
  
*  
  


"So, where are we going?" Jaskier asks, falling into step next to Roach and Geralt. 

"Triss."

"Not Yennefer?"

Geralt huffs. "Figured you'd prefer Triss," he says and doesn't mention that he feels more comfortable with Triss as well. Things between him and Yen are better, but they're still a little rocky and Yen and Jaskier have a difficult relationship as well. Usually, Jaskier can give as good as he gets, but usually Jaskier isn't under the influence of a curse that gives others control over him. It's not that he doesn't trust Yen, it's that he doesn't trust Yen and Jaskier together, not right now. 

"You think she can help?"

"Are you doubting her abilities?" Geralt says with a little grin. "Better not say that to her face."

Jaskier huffs. "No, I know she's good. Just… worried, I guess."

"Look, if Triss can't help, we'll try Yen. I'm sure she'd be able to help, but… it's a last resort."

"You'd get to see Ciri if we did, right?"

Geralt shrugs. "Yes. But right now Ciri is safe. It's not her I'm worried about right now." 

"Thank you," Jaskier murmurs. "It's nice. Knowing someone cares."

Geralt hums. It hurts to think that he ever truly made Jaskier believe he didn't care.

  
  
*  
  


Geralt tosses more wood onto the fire, watching the flames lick around it and regain strength again. He sits back down next to Jaskier, not close enough to touch but enough to feel the warmth radiating off his body. Night is falling quickly and the forest around them is quiet save for some critters scurrying nearby. Geralt listens to the crackling of the fire and Jaskier's steady heartbeat and feels more at peace than he has in months.

Today has been a little better, he thinks. Jaskier is still more subdued than he's used to, but the silence between them feels less heavy, some of the familiar ease returning. It feels more like before the mountain, except Jaskier isn't rambling or playing music and that still doesn't sit right with Geralt.

"Where's your lute?" he asks gruffly.

Jaskier turns to look at him and furrows his brow. "It's right over there? With the rest of our things," he says, gesturing towards the saddle bags. 

"No, I… I know that. But you're not playing." 

Jaskier purses his lips, cocking his head to the side. "Did you want me to?"

Geralt shrugs, trying to look casual. "Not used to you not singing or playing."

Jaskier hums and Geralt watches him chew on his bottom lip, wringing his fingers together nervously.

"Jaskier?" 

"I've been trying not to annoy you," Jaskier admits and grimaces. "Fillingless pie, remember?"

"That… fuck, Jask. That was so long ago. I didn't mean—" Geralt starts and curses under his breath.

"It's okay." 

"It's not," Geralt argues and huffs, trying to find the right words to express how much he didn't mean those words. He said so many awful things to Jaskier and he meant so few and an apology doesn't feel like enough. Jaskier has a thick skin—Geralt never thought his words really mattered, but he knows better now, knows that it's different when it's a friend not a stranger. Knows because he's been spit at and rejected and had stones thrown at him and he taught himself not to care, yet Yennefer and Jaskier turning their backs on him nearly _broke_ him, because unlike everyone else they mattered. Like he matters to Jaskier and his words must have cut deep in a way no strangers' ever could. He doesn't know how to say any of that, except, "The crust is the best part anyway."

Jaskier is silent for a moment and then he laughs. "Really, Geralt?"

Geralt huffs. "Just… get your lute and play, bard," he says and then freezes, realizing his mistake. Jaskier is already up, movements hurried and curt. "Stop. Shit. I mean… you don't have to. You can. If you want to. Just… do whatever you want. _Please_." 

His chest feels tight and he looks at Jaskier, pleading, knowing he fucked up again and hoping Jaskier can forgive him. Jaskier's shoulders drop, relax, and he looks at Geralt and gives him a wry smile.

"It's okay, dear," he says.

"No, it's not. I didn't mean—"

"Geralt, it's okay," Jaskier stresses. "It's going to happen. But you're trying and I know you wouldn't take advantage of me."

Geralt locks his jaw and looks away, shame burning in his gut. The last thing he wants is to force Jaskier to do something and he can't seem to do even that.

Jaskier sighs and then he comes to stand in front of Geralt, blocking his view of the fire, and drops down to his knees. 

"Geralt, look at me," Jaskier murmurs and places a hand on his arm. "You're going to slip up and tell me to do things. It's fine. I'm not going to get mad, not if you don't do it deliberately and I know you wouldn't. I… I know I said I wasn't sure if I trusted you, but I _do_. I've just had a rough time lately; I'm a little wary. I couldn't trust anyone but myself for a while and when I saw you again I didn't know how to feel. But you're a good man. I know you're good. And I know you're not going to use this against me."

"I wouldn't," Geralt chokes out. 

Jasier gives him a twisted smile and reaches up, cupping Geralt's cheek. "I know you wouldn't, dearest," he says. "And when you accidentally tell me to do something, I might be compelled to obey, but the curse didn't take away my voice. I can still make my displeasure known quite well and I will."

"Jaskier," Geralt says, his voice thick. How many times has Jaskier been in that situation recently? Where he felt compelled to follow an order regardless of his protests and how often did those change a damn thing? How often did he have to do things against his will, even when he was able to say he didn't want to, and Geralt wasn't there to stop things, to protect him? "I'm sorry I wasn't there. That I couldn't keep you safe." 

"I'm not completely incapable of taking care of myself; I managed just fine on my own," Jaskier says and drops his hand, letting it fall onto Geralt's thigh. "It wasn't great, shit happened, but it could have been a lot worse."

"Hmm."

"One guy ended up with a dagger between the ribs. I have to obey, but I can still do other shit," Jaskier adds. "See, I'm not useless." 

"Never said you were. I still wish I could have kept you safe."

Jaskier smiles at him. "You will now," he says. "Right?"

Geralt exhales and tips his head forward, resting his forehead against Jaskier's. "Yes," he says. "Jask? Would you play some music?"

Jaskier laughs and pulls away. "Yes. Yes, my darling, I will. I _knew_ you secretly liked my songs."

He pushes himself up and goes to get his lute. 

Geralt expects him to play something upbeat, one of his many—usually filthy—ditties to break the somber mood. But when Jaskier settles back down and starts strumming, it's a slow, melodic song that reminds Geralt of a lullaby. Jaskier starts singing, his voice sweet and soothing, and Geralt briefly closes his eyes and smiles.

  
  
*  
  


Geralt isn't happy about staying in town, but a traveling merchant they met on the road a few miles ago mentioned a possible contract. Despite the fact that he wants to get Jaskier to Triss as soon as possible, he can't ignore a monster that's killing people and they need the coin. Triss might be a friend, but he can't expect her to fix Jaskier for free. And if he's honest both he and Jaskier could use a hot bath. 

Jaskier sticks close to his side as they get Roach settled in the stables behind the inn and then go inside to get a room. "Heard there might be a job for a witcher in town," Geralt says to the innkeeper, who nods, red curls bouncing wildly.

"Sure is. There's something in the lake on the edge of town. One of the lads saw it, said it was slimy, muddy things, real frightening looking," she says. "We don't go near the lake anymore, but there's been a few missing travelers. Awful for business." 

Geralt grunts. "Who do I talk to about payment?"

"The alderman," the innkeeper says. "Lives in the house at the end of the street." 

"Thank you," Geralt says and pulls out his coin purse. "We'll need a room then. One bed's fine." 

The innkeeper hums, looking not too subtly back and forth between him and Jaskier, a knowing look in her eyes—not disgusted, but not approving either. Geralt ignores it and puts the coin down, taking the key he is handed in exchange. 

It's not surprising that people jump to conclusions about him and Jaskier; it's happened many times over the years. A witcher with a human traveling companion is strange enough. One he shares a room and bed with even more so. The first time it happened, when an innkeeper muttered insults about their presumed relationship under his breath, he expected Jaskier to quickly deny it, but Jaskier had just stepped closer to his side and smiled sweetly up to him. "A hot bath, too. Just one for both of us is just fine, we'll share," he'd said to the man, who had looked at them with so much aversion Geralt had feared they'd be kicked out. 

He slips an arm around Jaskier, placing a hand onto his back, and steers him to the stairs, keeping a careful eye on their surroundings and preemptively glaring at anyone who looks at Jaskier for longer than a second. 

Their room is small but clean and they put their things down in the corner.

"Alderman's first?" Geralt suggests. "We can call for a bath after I take care of the job."

"You want me to come?"

Geralt hums. "Sounds like it's drowners. They won't be dangerous if you don't get too close. I can probably dispatch them quickly," he says. "And I don't want to leave you behind on your own."

"If I'd known I just had to get cursed for you to let me tag along without any protest, I would have done it a lot sooner," Jaskier teases. 

Geralt huffs and shoots Jaskier a quick glare.

"Hey, it's my curse. I get to make jokes about it," Jaskier says. "And I appreciate it, by the way, that you're letting me come along. I… I feel safer when I'm with you." 

Geralt grunts. Usually Jaskier wouldn't be safer with him, but he doesn't feel comfortable leaving him behind right now, even if he just stays in their room. Traveling with a witcher puts a target on Jaskier's back and it wouldn't be the first time Geralt went off on a contract and Jaskier got in trouble, whether through his own fault or not. He isn't going to leave Jaskier on his own, not around people he doesn't know and trust.

"You have your dagger?" he asks and Jaskier nods. "You should take my cloak too, yours is too thin. It might get cold, sitting around, waiting for me to be done."

"Alright," Jaskier says and picks up Geralt's coak, unfolding it and slipping it around his shoulders. It hangs a little more loosely on Jaskier, and Geralt bites back a smile because Jaskier looks _nice_ , bundled up in Geralt's clothes. 

"Geralt," Jaskier says haltingly. 

"Hmm." 

"I just want you to know that I don't want you to worry about the curse while you're dealing with the drowners, okay? I know… well, I know how things get. You can tell me to run or hide or whatever."

"Jask." 

Jaskier shakes his head before he can say more. "This isn't up for discussion, witcher," he says more firmly. "I don't want you to worry about how to phrase things." 

"You won't be mad?" 

"Never," Jaskier says and steps closer, cupping Geralt's jaw in one hand. The look on his face is tender, fond, and Geralt _aches_. Jaskier presses a quick, soft kiss to his other cheek. "As long as we're both safe, do what you need to do."

Geralt can still feel the warm press of Jaskier's lips against his skin as they leave the inn.

  
  
*  
  


The alderman seems relieved to have a witcher in town and the payment is decent enough. They head for the lake right after talking to him, and just like Geralt suspected as he pokes around the shore of the lake, it's a drowner that emerges. There are three more, but that's not enough to give him any trouble. Jaskier is far enough back that he's out of harm's way, but Geralt still keeps his senses focused on him as much as on the drowners. The lake is more of a pond, the water murky and cold, and the smell of rotten flesh permeates everything. 

Geralt swings his sword, slicing through drowner after drowner until they're all dead.

He takes one of the heads as proof and then makes his way to where Jaskier is sitting on a tree stump, Geralt's cloak wrapped tightly around himself. It started raining while they were at the alderman's, a light drizzle that makes everything look gray and misty and miserable, but Jaskier still smiles brightly at him as he approaches.

"Magnificent as always," he says.

"Hmm." 

Jaskier stands up, his smile softening around the edges. "I mean that, dear. Watching you is a marvel," he says. "And you're devastatingly handsome on top of that. It's not fair."

"Jask," Geralt scowls, feeling a flood of warmth in his belly. He's never known what to do with the compliments Jaskier so freely doles out, especially once he accepted that he means them. 

"I know, I know," Jaskier says and touches his arm. "Let's head back, shall we? I think some hot food and a nice bath are in order."

  
  
*  
  


The inn's tavern is a lot more busy than it was when they left. With his purse heavy with the coin they just collected, Geralt pushes past people, keeping Jaskier close to his side, and flags down the innkeeper to order them food and a bath, both to be brought up to their room, and then they head upstairs. Jaskier is tense and cautious until they make it to their floor and only relaxes once they're alone and the noise from the crowd has become muted. 

Dinner is a thick stew and Geralt leaves Jaskier to finish the last of the bread while he gets undressed and sinks into the hot bath. He tries to be quick, scrubbing himself down, so Jaskier can get clean and—more importantly—warm as soon as possible. A quick use of Igni reheats the water for him and Jaskier gives him a grateful smile.

Geralt listens to him moan in pleasure as he sinks into the water and tries to ignore the flash of heat low in his belly. He dries off and gets dressed and then sits down to clean his weapons and armor. He keeps his gaze down and focused on his sword when Jaskier emerges from the bath and dresses himself. He listens to him pad around the room, getting ready for bed, and only looks up when there's a loud screeching noise.

"What are you doing?" Geralt asks, bewildered, as he watches Jaskier—clad in his smallclothes and one of Geralt's own shirts—pushing the small chest of drawers in front of the door. "The door is locked, Jaskier. And I'll keep an eye out. You're safe, you don't have to worry."

Jaskier shoots him a small, wry smile. "I know that. But _you_ haven't been sleeping, keeping watch instead. And don't you even try to deny it," he says, tone not allowing any arguing. "You need to get some sleep. So, I'm blocking the door. Even if someone were to try and get in, you'd wake up from the racket for sure. Now, come help me." 

"Jaskier." 

"Hush," Jaskier says and waves at the chest of drawers. "Come on. I want to go to bed, Geralt." 

Geralt abandons his sword with a sigh and goes to help Jaskier. "I don't need as much sleep as you do." 

"Yes, yes. But you need _some_ ," Jaskier says. "So don't give me any of that bullcrap, Geralt. I've traveled with you for over two decades; I know a little something about witchers and _my witcher_ in particular."

He gives Geralt a pointed look, as if challenging him to argue—whether about his need for sleep or being called Jaskier's witcher, Geralt isn't sure. He knows better than to let himself be baited, though, especially when he knows Jaskier is right. On both accounts.

They barricade the door as best as they can and then Jaskier slips into bed while Geralt finishes cleaning his swords. He extinguishes all candles around the room save for the one on the nightstand and checks the fire in the hearth before he joins Jaskier. 

Jaskier is blinking at him sleepily, a small smile on his lips, and he shuffles closer to Geralt as he settles down. 

"You're always so warm," he murmurs.

"And you're a leech." 

"Hmm. But a pretty leech," Jaskier says and Geralt hums. Jaskier pokes him in the chest. "That was a noise of agreement, wasn't it? You think I'm pretty."

"Don't you have enough people already telling you that?" 

"But they don't matter." 

"And I do?" Geralt asks with a small snort.

Jaskier sighs and shifts, his foot bumping against Geralt's shin. "You know you do. More than anyone."

Geralt's chest tightens. Looking back, he knows that this is where they've been headed for a long time, maybe even since the day they met. But he's never taken the final step and neither has Jaskier, and then Geralt tossed it all away on top of the mountain, even before he yelled at Jaskier. Losing Jaskier put things into perspective, though, and he can't deny the feelings he has for Jaskier. The djinn wish bound him to Yen—same as the Law of Surprise tied his and Ciri's destinies together—but Jaskier is who he _chose_ , unknowingly, over and over. 

"Jask," he murmurs and tentatively reaches out for him, resting his hand on Jaskier's waist. 

Jaskier gives him a small smile. He leans in, until Geralt can feel his breath on his face, and he makes a quiet noise and closes the rest of the distance between them. It's a soft kiss, only lasting a few moments before Geralt draws back. 

"Jask," he repeats and squeezes Jaskier's hip a little. "We shouldn't."

Jaskier's face falls, tension seeping into his body. "We—right, yes. Of course."

He tries to move away, but Geralt keeps his hand on him and won't let him wiggle free. 

"I mean just for now," he adds. "Until we break the curse." 

"This has nothing to do with the curse. You didn't _make_ me kiss you," Jaskier argues. 

"No. But I could. If things go further… Jaskier, I don't want to say anything in the heat of the moment, make you do something," Geralt says, just the thought of it making him feel a little sick. Not telling Jaskier to do things is hard enough when they're just doing mundane things, but sex would be different. He'd lose control, be less careful. 

Jaskier sighs. "Fine, yes. You have a point there, even if I hate to admit it," he admits. "But you can kiss me, can't you? You _want_ to, right?" 

"Yes," Geralt admits, voice rough. 

"Yes, you want to, or yes, we can kiss?"

Geralt briefly closes his eyes and groans. "You're impossible," he says, and when he opens his eyes again, Jaskier is smiling hopefully. Geralt can't resist and he leans back in and brushes a kiss over Jaskier's lips, then another. He keeps it chaste, even when Jaskier pushes closer, tries to deepen the kiss. Geralt squeezes his hip in warning, but he lets the kiss continue for a few more moments before he pulls away. Jaskier makes a protesting sound and Geralt huffs out a small laugh. 

"Good night, Jaskier," he says.

"Ugh, you're awful. Cruel," Jaskier complains, but he's smiling. Geralt lifts his head to blow out the last candle illuminating their room. He settles back down and Jaskier presses closer, huddling against him. It's not that cold with the fire in the hearth, but nights are getting rather chilly and Jaskier has always been prone to feeling cold easily. Geralt slips his arms around Jaskier, shifts to tug him more comfortably against his body.

"Good night, Geralt," Jaskier murmurs and Geralt hums contentedly.

  
  
*  
  


It's far from the first time Geralt has woken up like this, with Jaskier in his arms, Jaskier's limbs tangled hopelessly with his as he snores softly against Geralt's shoulder. It is, however, the first time that Geralt doesn't try to disentangle himself from Jaskeir's grip right away and takes his time to soak the moment in first. Jaskier is warm and soft—well, not completely soft _everywhere_ and Geralt does subtly shift his hips back—and Geralt could get used to it. Will be able to get used to it, more than likely, and the thought sends a thrill through him. He never thought he could have this kind of companionship; witchers walk the path alone and Geralt never thought his life would be any different—until Jaskier wormed his way into it, that is. 

Still, there's only so long Geralt can justify staying in bed when they have places to be. So he finally untangles himself and slips out of bed, while Jaskier snuffles a sleepy protest and shifts, blue eyes opening blearily. 

"Too early," he mumbles.

"It's actually later than I wanted to leave," Geralt counters, grabbing some clothes from his pack. 

"You're awful," Jaskier mutters. 

Geralt looks over his shoulder at him, watches Jaskier struggle to sit up, blankets pooling around his lap. His hair is a mess and there's a line running across his cheek, and Geralt's shirt has almost slipped off his right shoulder, the laces completely undone. Geralt wants to put his mouth onto the exposed flesh, lick the taste of sweat and soap off Jaskier, suck a mark into the creamy skin.

He turns away with a grunt and continues getting dressed. "We can get to Triss's in two days if we make good time," he says. 

"Right, we've got places to be, curses to break," Jaskier says and the bed creaks as he gets up. He brushes past Geralt and Geralt sneaks another look at him and the way the thin fabric of his smallthings clings to his ass as he moves. Jaskier seems oblivious about how utterly tempting he looks as he sheds Geralt's shirt and dresses for the day. Trying not to stare, Geralt busies himself putting on his boots and then packing up their things. He only looks up when Jaskier lets out a sigh and finds him staring into the small, cracked mirror leaning on a dresser, patting down his hair. 

"It's a right mess," Jaskier says unhappily. "I hope we stop by a lake or river before we get to Triss's so I can take another bath and make myself look presentable." 

"You don't need to impress her," Geralt grumbles.

Jaskier turns to him, an eyebrow arched. "No, I need to upstage her," he says pointedly. "What is it with you and sorceresses anyway?" 

Geralt grunts. "Whatever it is, seems to be working on bards too."

"Just one, I hope," Jaskier teases. He runs his fingers through his hair, fluffs it and then gives his head a little shake, flipping strands that are starting to get a little too long out of his face. 

It ends up looking no better than before, but Geralt finds that he likes Jaskier looking like this, disheveled and soft.

  
  
*  
  


Jaskier's good mood dampens a little as they head downstairs. The tavern isn't crowded, but there are some people milling around. Geralt rests a comforting hand between his shoulder blades. "We can get supplies and eat breakfast on the road," he suggests, and Jaskier gives him a grateful look, nodding.

There's a small market in the town's center. For once, Geralt is the one doing all the talking, letting Jaskier fade into the background as much as Jaskier is capable of doing such a thing. He ends up paying more than Jaskier probably would for their purchases, both because he's a witcher and because Jaskier is better at haggling. With the saddlebags newly filled with bread and cheese and jerky, some apples and nuts, and a couple of pastries and some grapes for breakfast, they start making their way out of town. 

It's still drizzling lightly and the roads are muddy and slippery. Geralt makes a mental note to buy Jaskier warmer clothes for winter, a thick, fur-lined cloak and gloves and decent boots, once they have more coin. Winter's still some time away and Jaskier usually spends it holed up at Oxenfurt or some court, but Geralt knows he's curious about Kaer Morhen and would jump at the chance to spend a winter there if Geralt were to ask. He never has before, but he has no intention to part from Jaskier for an entire season this year. _Especially_ after last night.

They eat the pastries and Geralt lets Jaskier have most of the grapes.

The rain lets up but then resumes after a few hours and eventually gets heavier, the roads wetter and muddier, and eventually Jaskier starts slowing down because he's so busy stepping around deep puddles and trying not to lose his footing on the slippery ground.

Geralt brings Roach to a halt. "Come here," he says. Jaskier almost falls down in his hurry to come over. "Shit, sorry. Fuck." 

He catches Jaskier by the arm before he can fall and Jaskier huffs out a wry laugh. "It's alright, dear," he says, sounding unbothered by Geralt's slip-up. 

Geralt grunts, not feeling as forgiving of himself because he should know better by now.

"You can ride with me," he says, holding out his hand. "Road's a mess." 

"Really?" Jaskier says and looks pleased, taking Geralt's hand without waiting for another response. Geralt pulls him up and waits until Jaskier is securely settled, perched in front of him. He readjusts the reins in his hands, arms curved around Jaskier's sides, and gives Roach a nudge with his legs. 

They make headway a lot faster without Jaskier slipping and sliding on foot, but it's torture. Jaskier's butt is nestled right against his crotch, Roach's movement making him shift and rub ever so slightly against Geralt. Worst of all, Jaskier isn't unaffected by it either, and after a while Geralt can smell his arousal. He tries to focus on the road and their surroundings, but Jaskier smells sweet and musky and tempting and he feels good against him. 

The rain finally stops and the roads become dryer, clearly not having been touched by rain as much as the area they came from. Geralt finds them a spot to camp by a small stream a little earlier than he planned and tells himself it's because finding a place to settle down, get a fire going to dry their cloaks, is a good idea, not because he's been feeling keyed-up.

He leaves Jaskier to start a fire while he goes to hunt something for dinner—they have enough for now, but the jerky and cheese will keep for a while and he needs a break to calm down a little. He takes his time, wandering around as much as hunting, and eventually returns with two squirrels.

The scent hits him right away as he steps into their little camping area. Clouded by the smell of wood smoke and fire, the salty, musky scent of Jaskier's spent and the sweetness of his arousal is still unmistakable. Geralt tries not to sniff the air, breathe in the scent. He puts the squirrels down with a low groan. "Did you really have to?" he mutters.

Jaskier looks at him, brow furrowed. "Did I have to what?" he asks and then his eyes go wide, impossibly blue, his soft, pink mouth parting. His cheeks look flushed still and it's making it all the harder for Geralt to ignore what he did, to not picture it. "Can you—"

"Smell it," Geralt confirms.

Jaskier flush deepens. "I cleaned up," he says. "You and your darn nose." 

"Hmm." 

"I was all riled up; I took care of it," Jaskier says a little testily. "Nothing wrong with that."

Geralt grunts. "No," he agrees. There isn't anything wrong with it. Jaskier has come back to a shared room smelling like sex and arousal plenty of times, has snuck off to take care of himself while they traveled, too—Geralt has done the same and he doesn't hold it against Jaskier. But right now it's making his stomach squirm and his pulse thud heavily. 

"I'm going to go check the area, make sure we're safe," he says, keeping his voice calm and soft. 

Jaskier looks like he wants to protest, but then he snaps his mouth shut and nods. Geralt stalks off, the scent of Jaskier still wafting around him and his cock half hard in his trousers. 

He goes far enough that he knows he's out of earshot, shielded from view by trees, and then lets out a groan. His hand falls down to his cock, squeezing it, before he fumbles to undo the buttons of his pants and pull his cock out. He spits into his palm and takes himself into his hand, propping himself up against the tree in front of him with the other. A low groan falls from his lips as he starts stroking himself, bringing himself to full hardness. 

An image of Jaskier pops into his head—it's not the first time this has happened, but usually he pushes those thoughts away. This time, he allows himself to think about Jaskier, to imagine it is Jaskier's hand touching him. Jaskier's mouth around him, Jaskier's ass. Geralt moans and rocks his hips forward, thrusting into his hand. 

It doesn't take long before pleasure coils tight in his gut and he spills, biting back any loud noises as he comes messily.

  
  
*  
  


When Geralt returns to their camp, Jaskier is skinning the squirrels. He's taken off his doublet and rolled up the sleeves of his chemise in an obvious attempt not to get anything dirty, his fingers already sticky with blood. 

"I can do the rest," he offers. "You already made camp." 

"You hunted," Jaskier points out, but he happily hands the half-skinned squirrel over to Geralt. He goes to wash his hands in the stream while Geralt works, putting his doublet back on before he sits down, a little closer to Geralt. 

"Are you cross with me?" he asks.

Geralt glances at him and then back at the squirrel. "You didn't do anything wrong," he says. "Just… a bit frustrated. After today's ride." 

Jaskier snorts. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he says. "Stupid curse." 

"We'll fix it." 

"I know," Jaskier says. "You always do."

  
  
*  
  


Triss's house sits tucked away in a small valley, tall trees framing the back of it. It's far enough away from a town to be secluded and peaceful and Geralt is glad that Triss isn't currently residing at a court or in a busy city. They walk up to it side by side, Geralt leading Roach by the reins, and the door opens when they're still a few paces away. Triss stands in the doorway, curls shining in the late afternoon sunlight and her green dress sweeping against the floor.

"Geralt, what a surprise!" she calls and steps outside, pulling Geralt into a hug once he's close enough. "It's good to see you again." 

"You, too," Geralt mumbles.

Triss draws back with a small grin and turns to Jaskier. "And you, too, Jaskier," she says. "To what do I owe the pleasure of you two visiting me? Knowing you it's not just to chat and have a cup of tea." 

"No," Geralt confirms. "We need help." 

Triss nods, expression turning somber but no less friendly. "Well, we better talk about it inside then, I suppose?" she asks. "You can get your horse settled around the back with mine."

Geralt nods and glances at Jaskier. "We'll be right back, Triss," he says, and Jaskier gives her a wry smile, but follows Geralt around the house.

"You could have left me alone with her," he says.

"Not until we explain," Geralt grunts. 

Triss's horse is a beautiful dapple gray mare that Jaskier promptly wins over by doling out affection and an apple he splits in half between her and Roach, while Geralt unsaddles Roach. He brushes her down, makes sure there's enough hay and water before he grabs their things. Jaskier takes his lute and follows.

They find Triss in her kitchen, smiling at them as they enter and waving for them to sit down at the big wooden table. "Tea?" she asks. "Or perhaps something stronger."

"Tea is good," Jaskier says and Geralt hums in agreement. 

Triss already has water heated up over the hearth and she prepares three steaming mugs, the scent of herbs filling the room. She sits down across from them.

"So," she says. "You wanted my help." 

"Yes," Geralt says. Next to him, Jaskier shifts nervously, hands curled tightly around his mug.

Triss looks a little exasperated and raises an eyebrow. "Does this happen to have anything to do with a mutual friend of ours? She's been acting cagey lately."

"This isn't about Yen." 

"Hmm. But you do know what's going on with Yen?" Triss asks, and she obviously already knows the answer. Geralt doesn't reply. "It wouldn't have anything to do with the rumors about you and a certain Cintran princess."

"Triss," Geralt says, giving her a pleading look.

"Fine, fine. I'll stop asking. I just hope everyone… _involved_ is doing well and is safe." 

"Yes." 

"Good," Triss says. "So, what is this about?"

"Me," Jaskier replies. "I, uh, I'm in a bit of a predicament. The cursed kind." 

Triss turns to him, eyes going sharp as she studies Jaskier. "Hmm, yes. I can feel the magic on you, more so than when we met before."

Jaskier goes stiff for a moment, then he nods. Geralt shoots him a quick, reassuring look—they've never talked about it, the fact that Jaskier clearly isn't entirely human. Geralt has never cared, and if Jaskier didn't want to talk about it, then Geralt wasn't going to push it.

"Yes, a smidge more, I'd say," Jaskier says bitterly. 

"It's an obedience curse," Geralt adds. "Can you help with that?"

Triss presses her lips together. "I need to know more," she says. "Curses can be tricky, as you well know. I will have to research, see what I can find on that type of curse and how to break it. It might take some time." 

"That's fine," Jaskier says. 

"Well, then," she continues. "Let's start with the mage who did this. Why did they curse you? And do you know a name?"

Jaskier shakes his head. "No, no name or anything. I was at a tavern in a small town near Novigrad, bit of a shithole, really. He followed me outside after my performance, asked if I was Geralt's bard, called me White Wolf's pet and said that he would make me act like a good pet should," he recounts and Geralt feels a familiar surge of guilt. "I'd never seen him before."

"Geralt, any idea?" Triss prompts. "A mage who holds a grudge against you?"

Geralt snorts dryly. "A few, yes," he says wryly. "Too many." 

Triss rolls her eyes at him and then turns her attention back to Jaskier. "Can you tell me what he looked like?"

Jaskier bites his lip and shrugs. "Shorter than me, brown hair. Pretty non-descriptive, really," he says. "He was obviously bloody mad. I'm not even sure if he really knew Geralt or just had a problem with witchers in general." 

"Ring a bell?" Triss asks, looking at Geralt.

Geralt huffs. "If any of what Jaskier told me had, I would have already found the asshole and _made_ him lift the curse," he says. "I've encountered many mages over the years; none of the ones who stood out fit the description. And if they wanted revenge they probably would have done something a lot more sinister." 

"Alright," Triss says and sighs. "So, that's a dead end. I guess it's research then. And I have some people I can contact, maybe they know something."

"Can you not mention my name, please?" Jaskier asks. "If there's no quick fix, I don't want anyone to know." 

"Of course," Triss says and takes a sip of her tea. "There's one more thing, though. I need to know what you are and if that in any way affects the curse or would affect my magic, if I were to use it on you to break the curse." 

Jaskier looks down at his mug and frowns, looking unhappy and sheepish all at once. Geralt doesn't reach out and take his hand in his, but he wants to. Wants to reassure him that it's fine, whatever he is.

"As far as I know my mother is human, but who knows if that's entirely true. I never met my grandparents; my father didn't care for them all too much," Jaskier says with a small humorless huff. "And he isn't really my father, but I don't know who is. It wasn't talked about. Some dalliance my mother had, but there were plenty of those. There were all kinds of rumors, but I can't tell you which ones were true and which ones weren't."

Triss hums. "May I?" she asks, holding her hands out to Jaskier.

Jaskier bites his lower lip but nods and places his hands into hers and Triss closes her eyes. Geralt watches, muscles tense, ready to jump in at the first sign of discomfort. He knows Triss is no threat, he wouldn't be here if she was, but he feels an almost overwhelming urge to keep Jaskier safe. 

Jaskier's face remains relaxed, perfectly at ease, but Triss is frowning a little and it doesn't sit well with Geralt. He lets his legs fall open wider, until his knee presses against Jaskier's, a silent reminder that he's there.

Triss finally draws her hands back and blinks. "Interesting," she says, smiling a little.

"What?" Jaskier asks. 

"You were able to resist my magic at first. It felt like hitting a wall. But then it suddenly eased," she says. "Yen has healed you before, right? And you've spent time together, she knows you quite well."

Jaskier nods hesitantly. "Not sure if she knows me well, but well enough," he says. "And yes, she's healed me." 

"I'd like to contact her, if that's alright," Triss says. "I want to know if there were any issues when she healed you, if you resisted her magic."

Jaskier slumps. "If you have to." 

"They're like oil and fire," Geralt mutters.

"Ah, I've heard," Triss says, lips quirked up into a grin. "Yen's complained often enough. But she wouldn't even bother mentioning Jaskier if she didn't care." 

"Hmm." 

"But it's Jaskier's choice, of course. I don't have to tell her any specifics about your curse."

"Fine, yes," Jaskier says. "If it helps."

Triss nods. "I'll contact her now. It shouldn't take too long for her to get back to me," she says. She gets up, her dress swishing around as she walks out of the room briskly.

"Ah, the joys of magic. Yennefer of Vengerburg is never more than a stone's throw away," Jaskier snarks.

Geralt gives a small laugh. "Helpful, though." 

"I suppose."

Geralt turns to Jaskier and peers at him. "Are you sure you're alright with this?"

Jaskier doesn't look pleased, but he nods. "I want this to be over," he murmurs. "I want my old life back. Our old life. I want to stop worrying and I want to be able to perform again and I want _you_ , very much, so the sooner we get this curse lifted, the better."

Geralt nods. "I want that too. Our old life. And you," he says, the words a little stilted, but judging by Jaskier's smile they're the right words to say.

  
  
*  
  


Triss offers them a place to stay and Geralt is more than happy to agree. They wouldn't have been able to afford a room at a nearby inn for more than a few nights before running out of coin and the only other option would have been to set up a camp close by. They're safe and warm here and Geralt knows Jaskier will appreciate sleeping in a bed for a few nights. And Triss doesn't bat an eyelash when he tells her they only need one room.

The sun is setting by the time they bring their things into the room Triss shows them and they return downstairs and settle down for dinner. Their bowls are barely empty before Jaskier yawns, and he looks utterly exhausted.

"I'm afraid I'm not very entertaining tonight," he says sheepishly. "I'm going to retire, if you have no more questions for me, Triss."

"No," she says with a smile. "No more questions for now. You look like you need some rest before you could answer anymore anyway." 

"Yes, that might be true," Jaskier agrees and stands. He briefly rests his hand on Geralt's forearm, giving it a squeeze and a quick smile. "Good night." 

"Good night," Geralt mumbles. He can feel Triss's eyes on him, even after Jaskier leaves and when she looks at him she seems amused.

"A drink, perhaps?" she suggests.

Geralt hums.

Triss gets up and comes back shortly with two goblets. Geralt smells the wine before she even sets it down. He knows Triss well enough to recognize the knowing glint in her eyes and he wishes it was something stronger as he takes a sip of wine, desperately missing their home-brewed White Gull at Kaer Morhen.

"You love him," Triss finally says after a moment of silence, her voice surprised and fond.

"Hmm," Geralt says and takes another few gulps.

"Does Yen know?"

Geralt puts the goblet down and snorts. "She always did," he says. 

"You keep surprising me, Geralt of Rivia," Triss says. 

Geralt gives her a wry smile. "It's complicated." 

"Is it, though?" Triss asks. "You and Yen have a bond. But Yennefer is… _Yennefer._ She wants everything and when she can't have something, she wants _that_ especially. And she should; she deserves the world. But nobody is ever really going to be enough for her, Geralt. She wants you in her life, sometimes, but she's never going to want you around forever and you're never going to be able to give her everything she wants or needs."

"Are we still talking about me?" 

Triss huffs, the sound sad. "We're talking about everyone Yen has ever been involved with, I suppose." 

"Triss," Geralt says gently, but Triss shakes her head. 

"You wanted Yen to be what you needed," she says softly. "But she can't be, can she? Same as you can't be what she needs."

Geralt presses his lips together. "No," he admits quietly. 

"And Jaskier?"

"He's everything I'm not supposed to have. Yen is… she gets it. We can't have things we want," he says. "Jaskier's good. No matter what life throws his way, he's good. He deserves better." 

"Than a witcher?" Triss asks wryly. "You're an idiot." 

"Yes."

"So, you're going to deny both of you what you want because you think you're not good enough?"

Geralt gives a small headshake. "Not anymore," he says. 

"Good," Triss says. "You and Yen are bonded by magic, yet you're here with him. That should tell you all you need." 

Geralt nods. "For what it's worth, if there's anyone who is going to be enough for Yen, it would be you," he says. 

Triss gives him a tight smile. "Maybe one day," she says. 

  
  
*  
  


Jaskier is curled up on the far side of the bed when Geralt enters their room. He's asleep, wearing one of Geralt's shirts once again, but he's left candles lit around the room and their things have been neatly unpacked, Geralt's swords resting against the wall next to the bed. Geralt moves quietly as he gets ready for bed and Jaskier doesn't wake until Geralt slips into bed. Geralt hums quietly and slides his arms around Jaskier, pulling him against his chest.

Jaskier makes a sleepy noise. "Missed you," he mumbles.

Geralt exhales and tucks his face into the crook of Jaskier's neck, hearing Jaskier's breath even out again as he falls back asleep. "It will be okay," he vows quietly, words muffled by Jaskier's neck. 

  
  
*  
  


"I heard back from Yennefer," Triss says the next morning when they make it downstairs, Jaskier still rubbing sleep from his eyes. There's porridge cooking and Triss waves her hands at two bowls she has already set out for them, so Geralt nudges Jaskier towards the table and goes to get them breakfast.

"What did our lovely, scary witch have to say?" Jaskier mumbles.

"That she's entirely unsurprised that you got into trouble and need help," Triss deadpans. 

Geralt returns to the table and bites back a smile at the pout on Jaskier's face. "It wasn't my fault."

"This time," Geralt teases and sets their bowls down, choosing a seat next to Jaskier, ignoring Jaskier's glare. "Did she give you any useful information, Triss?"

"Yes. It sounds like her experience was very much the same as mine last night when she healed Jaskier," Triss says. "She can't say what exactly you are either, she thinks it's a mix of different things. Not enough of one thing to make you anything but predominantly human, but enough of each to make you not _entirely_ human either. She says you're not aging?"

"Eh. Very slowly," Jaskier says. "Honestly, I was never really sure if there was any truth to the rumors I heard about my parentage back in Lettenhove at all. But then I hit adulthood and I all but stopped aging. I don't look much different than I did at twenty."

Triss nods. "Nothing other than that?" 

"Not that I have been aware of, no," Jaskier says.

"Hmm. Your success as a bard could speak for an elven bloodline."

Next to Geralt, Jaskier stiffens, his spoon dropping into his bowl. "I worked hard to become who I am," he snaps. "I'm not some crook swaying people with some magical powers."

Triss holds her hands up. "Of course not, that's not what I meant. Your talent might be something that has been passed on through your ancestors, but it's no different than the child of a great swordsman having a knack for swordplay as well. It's still your talent, a skill you have perfected." 

Jaskier looks a little mollified. "So, elven you think?" 

"Among other things, it seems one of the most likely ones. Maybe some fae blood, far down the line, perhaps some Elder blood; there are lots of things you could be," Triss says with a nod. "More people have a bit of something not entirely human mixed in their blood than they think."

"Hmm. So what does it mean for the curse?"

Triss holds up her hands. "I'm getting to that. Like I said, Yen said you resisted her magic at first as well when she healed you," she says. "She said Geralt's presence seemed to soothe you."

"How?" Geralt asks.

Triss gives Geralt an exasperated look before focusing on Jaskier again. "Where do you feel safest, Jaskier?" 

"With Geralt," Jaskier answers without hesitation. 

Triss smiles and nods. "There's your answer, Geralt," she says. "So, if breaking the curse requires magic, it should be fine if Geralt is with you. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. I'll need to find out how to break the curse first." 

"Can we help?" Jaskier asks.

"You could do me a favor, if you wanted," Triss says with a shrug. "I'm low on a few things. Just plants that need to be gathered. If you could do that for me, I would have more time to look into your curse." 

"Of course," Geralt says. "Anything we have to travel half the Continent for?"

Triss laughs. "No, nothing like that. It's all things that grow in the area, nothing too uncommon."

Geralt nods. "We can do that."

"Good," Triss says and gets up, retrieving a slip of parchment, which she hands to Geralt. "I assume you're familiar with all of these?" 

Geralt skims the lists and nods. "You had this on hand already. Eager to get us out of your hair?" 

Triss smirks at him. "I work better without a witcher, pacing and fretting." 

"I don't pace or fret." 

"That's not what Yen says," Triss mocks. "Whatever the price, hmm?"

"What does that mean?" Jaskier asks.

"Nothing," Geralt mumbles.

  
  
*  
  


The basket Triss gave them is already decently filled by early afternoon, bundles of plants that Geralt neatly bound together with pieces of string. It's been a mild and sunny day, perfect for trudging through the meadows and woods near Triss's house as they work their way down the list. There are a few things that they will have to travel a bit further for, but Geralt decides they can do that tomorrow and take Roach and maybe borrow Triss's mare so they'll be quick enough to return within the day.

"Those weren't on the list," Geralt notes as he watches Jaskier pick marigolds, making a small bouquet out of a handful of the orange flowers.

"But they're pretty," Jaskier says with a grin. "And marigolds. Triss. Get it?" 

"Yes," Geralt says, rolling his eyes even as a smile tugs at his lips. He adds a bundle of celandine into the basket. He sits down next to Jaskier, watching him as he ties the knot of the string he has woven around the stems of the flowers, his tongue peeking out.

Geralt slips his waterskin off his shoulder and holds it out to Jaskier.

"I'm good," Jaskier says, nodding at his own.

"It's not water," Geralt says, and Jaskier looks amused.

"That's why you've been stealing sips of my water all day, hmm?" he asks and takes Geralt's waterskin. "Wine?" 

"Hmm."

"Alright," he says. He pulls the stopper out and gives it a sniff. "You might have to carry me home, witcher. I haven't had a sip of alcohol since that bloody asshole cursed me." 

"You don't have to," Geralt says, and feels like a fool for not having realized that Jaskier hasn't been drinking—and for good reason. He wouldn't want to be inebriated and lose control with a curse like that hanging over his head either.

"I hardly think you will take advantage of me if I get a little sloshed, dear," Jaskier says. "Nor will Triss." 

"Of course not," Geralt murmurs.

Jaskier hums and takes a sip, and then another before passing the waterskin to Geralt. While Geralt takes a drink he leans into him with a sigh, resting his head on Geralt's shoulder almost delicately.

"Two sips and you're already cozying up to the nearest warm body, huh?" Geralt teases.

"Oh hush," Jaskier says, holding his hand out for the waterskin. "I've wanted to do this so many times." 

"Hmm?"

"Sit down next to you and steal a kiss between songs," Jaskier continues. "Drop down onto your lap after a long performance."

Geralt lets Jaskier have the wine and winds his arm around Jaskier's waist, hauling him a little closer. "You think I would let you sit on my lap, bard?" he asks, turning his head. Jaskier's face is tipped up, a smile on his lips. He smells sun-warmed, the scent of lavender soap wafting from his hair.

"Wouldn't you?" Jaskier murmurs. "Let me sit on your lap, steal your ale and then a kiss or two, before you'd take me up to our room, hmm? Away from prying eyes and wandering hands, to have me all to yourself." 

"Jask," Geralt mutters and dips his head down, covering Jaskier's mouth with his. His hand comes up to curve around Jaskier's jaw, and Jaskier sighs against his lips and parts his eagerly. He tastes like wine and the blackberries they found earlier, tart and sweet all at once, and Geralt can't resist deepening the kiss, licking slowly into Jaskier's mouth and letting their tongues slide together. 

He lets the kiss go on for longer than he should, allows himself a few moments to enjoy how good Jaskier is, the sweet, quiet noises he makes, better than anything Geralt could have imagined. Finally, he draws back reluctantly. Jaskier blinks at him with bright blue eyes, his lips pink and damp. Geralt hums and swipes a thumb over the bottom one, the flesh warm and plush. 

"Geralt," Jaskier whines quietly. 

Geralt grins a little.

"This is unfair," Jaskier sighs. "I could finally have you, except I can't. Ugh, why do you have to be so damn noble, huh?"

"You don't know how much you tempt me," Geralt admits in a mutter, pressing his nose to Jaskier's hairline. "Should ask Triss if there's a bit of siren blood in you."

"What if there was, huh? Would you take your silver sword to me, witcher?" Jaskier asks.

Even the idea of that is utterly unfathomable to Geralt, so instead of replying he ducks his head down and kisses Jaskier again, hoping that's enough to convey how he feels. That he _loves_ Jaskier, that he would sacrifice himself before letting harm come to him, from anyone, himself included. 

When Geralt tries to break the kiss this time, Jaskier stops him with a hand on his neck, attempting to pull him back in.

"Jaskier," Geralt says.

"You kissed me twice, nothing bad happened," Jaskier says. "You can kiss me again." 

"I don't want to mess up." 

"Hmm, you can't when I'm keeping your mouth occupied, darling," Jaskier argues and Geralt shouldn't, but he lets himself be drawn in again, their lips finding each other, and when Jaskier lowers himself down, Geralt follows, keeps kissing him again and again. 

The rest of Triss's list will have to wait for tomorrow.

  
  
*  
  


By day six, Jaskier is starting to get anxious and Geralt tries his best to soothe his worries, but he can't deny that the longer it takes for Triss to find a way to break the curse, the more his own concerns flare. He decides to give it another day or two before he'll talk to Jaskier about asking Yen for help. He knows there's a way to break the curse, there always is, but Jaskier is already starting to become quieter again, more subdued, and Geralt hates seeing him like that. He's taken to joining Triss, pouring over parchments for answers.

It's in the afternoon of the seventh day, while he's leafing through a heavy tome, that Triss lets out a surprised, loud laugh.

Geralt lifts his head. "What?" he asks. "Did you find something?"

Triss presses a hand to her chest, her laugh ceasing. "Get your bard in here, Geralt," she says, and Geralt feels his heart thud heavily with hope. He gets up immediately, ignoring the book almost toppling onto the floor as he heads upstairs to their room where he knows Jaskier is holed up, composing.

Jaskier looks up with wide eyes from where he's sitting on the bed with his lute, his notebook open in front of him, when Geralt throws the door open without knocking. 

"Darling? Is everything alright?"

"Triss found something," he says and Jaskier scrambles off the bed so fast he almost trips. Geralt reaches him before he can, steadying him, and Jaskier smiles at him, nerves rolling off him in waves.

Triss is smiling at them, looking a little smug, when they enter the sitting-room and Geralt knows without a doubt she's sure of herself, of what she found.

"What is it?" Jaskier asks eagerly. "Is it complicated? Dangerous?" 

Triss's smile softens and she shakes her head. "A loophole," she says and waves at them to sit down. She waits until they've settled and Geralt maybe wants to strangle her a _little_ for dragging this out. "You have to do as you're told, correct?"

"Yes," Jaskier says.

"Get on with it, Triss," Geralt grumbles.

"Oh, alright. Don't let me enjoy this then. It's just _so simple_ ," Triss says and laughs a little. "I can't believe I didn't think to try this. If you have to do as you're told, Jaskier, technically all we have to do is tell you not to obey any commands you don't wish to."

"That's it?" Jaskier asks, sounding both hopeful and disbelieving. Geralt isn't quite sure he believes it either, that it could be that easy.

"Hmm, if we word it correctly, yes," Triss says. She gets up and hands Geralt a slip of parchment. "I figured you would want to be the one to do it. Those words should do it."

Geralt studies the sentence she has written down and then looks up at her. "Are you sure?" 

"Pretty sure, yes. And if I'm wrong, I'll go back to reading," she says.

Geralt nods and looks at Jaskier. "Jaskier. Don't obey any commands unless you find them reasonable and wish to do so."

Jaskier looks at him, eyes wide and sky blue, and Geralt hears the way his breath stutters. A small tremble goes through his body, and Geralt pushes himself off his seat to kneel in front of Jaskier, take Jaskier's hands in his. "Jask?"

"It felt like… like something _popped_ inside of me," he says. "Like a bubble."

Geralt glances at Triss, who is smiling and nodding.

"Jaskier. Go fetch me that book from the table," she says.

Jaskier makes a move to get up and Geralt's heart stops, but then Jaskier sinks back down and breaks out into a smile. "Get it yourself, witch," he says.

Triss breaks out into laughter. "Geralt?" she prompts.

Geralt grins a little and meets Jaskier's eyes. "Get up and hop around on one leg, Jask," he says.

Jaskier huffs and slaps his shoulder. "Oh, how dare you, Geralt, you oaf," he says, but he's smiling and Geralt can't stop looking at him. The last months have worn on Jaskier, but he looks lighter now, his smile genuine and wide and a little disbelieving still. Geralt himself feels like a weight has been lifted off him. 

Behind them Triss clears her throat. "I believe I have something to take care of, uh, elsewhere," she says, not very subtly. Geralt waits until she's left the room, not looking away from Jaskier even once, before he squeezes Jaskier's hands.

"Geralt," Jaskier says, his voice trembling a little.

"Hmm." 

"Tell me to do something I want to do," Jaskier says. 

Geralt's throat closes, and he feels hope bubble up in his chest as he says, "Kiss me."

Jaskier's smile grows soft and he pulls his hands from Geralt's, only to cup his face. "That," he says, "I can do, my dear."

He leans in and Geralt meets him halfway. The kiss is slow at first, almost hesitant, but then Jaskier pushes for more and Geralt is happy to comply, slipping an arm around Jaskier and pulling him forward.

"Geralt," Jaskier gasps, and slips his fingers into Geralt's hair. "Bedroom. Please."

Geralt lets out a low growl. He pulls back and stands up, urging Jaskier up with him, and then he bends, sliding an arm around Jaskier's knees and effortlessly lifting him up over his shoulders.

They've waited long enough for this. Over two decades. And Geralt finds himself finally running out of patience.

  
  
*  
  


Geralt presses a kiss to Jaskier's collarbone and smoothes his hands down his sides. Jaskier squirms underneath him and sucks in a breath, tilting his head to the side. Geralt takes advantage of it and kisses a path up Jaskier's neck, pressing his nose to the soft spot under Jaskier's ear.

"Geralt," Jaskier gasps. "Fuck, darling. I thought about this so much."

"Hmm." 

"Since the day we met," Jaskier admits, almost hesitantly. Geralt lifts his head and kisses him, deep and dirty. Their cocks slide together between their bodies as he rocks down and he swallows Jaskier's moan. 

His hands slip further down, grip Jaskier's hips, fingers digging into soft flesh. He lifts his head and looks down at Jaskier, at his bruised lips and flushed cheeks, at the long limbs and pale flesh, dark hair covering his chest and trailing down to where his cock is curved against his belly. He's seen Jaskier naked before, many times, but he's never seen him like this, never had him under him, hard and wanting, and it makes Geralt's stomach flip. He rolls his hips against Jaskier's, their cocks sliding together between their bodies. Pleasure coils tightly in his belly and he watches Jaskier shudder. 

He's wanted this, for so many years, believed he never could have this, could deserve this, for just as long. He still isn't sure he does, but Jaskier wants this and Geralt is willing to give him whatever he wants. As long as Jaskier is happy, is safe.

Geralt ducks his head down, kisses Jaskier's neck and Jaskier turns his head, nuzzles against him.

"I want you," he rasps, and Geralt's chest tightens. He nods, presses more fervent kisses to Jaskier's skin as he makes his way down. The smell of Jaskier's arousal is heady and Geralt licks over the wet head of his cock, groaning at the bitter, salty taste of him. 

"Geralt," Jaskier whines, fingers sliding into Geralt's hair and twisting in it. Geralt hums and opens his mouth around Jaskier, suckling at him while sliding fingers down between his legs, past his balls to rub over his hole.

He has to pull away eventually to retrieve some oil, slicking his fingers to press them into Jaskier's body and get him ready. He distracts him with his mouth, licks and kisses and lets Jaskier's cock slide into him until it hits the back of his throat. Jaskier is hot and tight around his fingers, but he takes him easily, no sign of discomfort as Geralt works him open, gets him relaxed and wet with sweet-smelling oil. He listens to the whines and gasps he draws from Jaskier, revels in the way Jaskier doesn't seem to know whether to push into the heat of his mouth or rock down on his fingers, utterly caught up in the pleasure Geralt gives him as he sucks him down and slides his fingers against his prostate. 

Geralt is almost painfully hard as well, rutting his hips against the mattress, pleasure shooting down his spine each time Jaskier tugs at his hair. He can tell Jaskier is almost at the edge of coming, writhing under him as moans spill from his lips. 

Geralt slips his fingers out of him and pulls off of him, and Jaskier makes an aborted, keening noise. "Geralt." 

Geralt licks his lips, almost moaning at the lingering taste of Jaskier. "I want to fuck you," he says, his voice raspy. "Can I?"

Jaskier huffs out a breathless laugh and covers his eyes with his arm. His chest is flushed, his cock red and wet with Geralt's spit and his legs are splayed wide, open and trusting. "I will never talk to you again if you don't," Jaskier threatens hoarsely.

Geralt grins a little, knowing it's an empty threat, but after the last few weeks he has learned that Jaskier's silence would indeed be a punishment, something he never wants to experience again. 

He gently pushes Jaskier's arm away from his eyes, pressing it against the pillow above his head and meets his eyes, shining wet and pupils blown wide. He leans down and kisses Jaskier, firm and deep, before he pulls away again. The vial of oil is still lying on the bed and Geralt picks it up and pulls the stopper out, pouring some of the thick liquid into his palm to slick himself up. 

Jaskier's breath hitches when Geralt lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging against his hole. Geralt slips a hand behind the back of Jaskier's knee, pushing his leg up and out, and then presses his hips forward. There's a moment of resistance, but then Jaskier opens up around him and Geralt sinks into him with a groan, stilling almost immediately. Jaskier feels almost impossibly tight, despite how long Geralt spent working him open, and if Jaskier's eyes weren't blown wide with arousal, mouth parted around a small moan, Geralt would worry that he wasn't ready, that he must be hurting him. Jaskier curls his hand around Geralt's bicep, squeezing.

"Keep going," he encourages. "Please. Want to feel you, want you to fill me, Geralt."

Geralt nods and starts moving again, rocking in and in and _in_ , until his hips are pressed flush against Jaskier's ass. Jaskier is panting harshly, bright red spots on his cheeks, his eyes wet and bright. 

"Jaskier," Geralt groans.

"You're so good, dearest," Jaskier hushes. "So good. Please."

Geralt grunts and hoists Jaskier's other leg over his shoulder. He leans forward, over Jaskier, and gives a small thrust, his own groan mingling with Jaskier's thready gasp. Pleasure is coiled deep in his gut, tight and hot. He pulls out further this time, pushes back into Jaskier a little harder, listening to the noises he draws from Jaskier, feels him shudder under him. 

Jaskier's almost folded in half, laid bare and trusting, and Geralt can't take his eyes off him as he starts thrusting into him, over and over, burying himself deep inside the tight heat of his body and wringing pleasure out of both of them. He feels like he's burning up with want, want that has built for years and years, and he knows he's never going to get enough of this, of Jaskier. 

Jaskier's moans grow needier, louder, and he cups the back of Geralt's neck and pulls him down into a kiss that's sloppy and fervent. Geralt slides his tongue past his lips, hips slapping against Jaskier's skin as he keeps fucking him, their bodies tangled up completely, breaths mingling and noises muffled by eager lips. 

He feels it when Jaskier tumbles over the edge, body going taunt, clenching around Geralt, before he spills hotly between their bodies, without Geralt even touching him. Geralt groans and pulls away from the kiss to bury his face in the crook of Jaskier's neck, his weight pinning Jaskier down. He keeps moving, rutting into Jaskier with short thrusts, feeling Jaskier's pulse rabbit-quick against his mouth, fingers digging into his shoulder as Jaskier clings to him, and moments later he comes too, a low groan of Jaskier's name falling from his lips.

  
  
*  
  


"Incubus," Geralt mumbles, carding his fingers through Jaskier's sweaty hair with a small grin.

Jaskier hums, the sound confused, and burrows closer against Geralt's body. 

"One of your ancestors was definitely an incubus," Geralt clarifies.

"Fuck you," Jaskier murmurs. "But also thank you."

Geralt snorts.

Jaskier shifts again, restless as always even though he should be utterly exhausted after coming twice. Geralt definitely could use a nap. Jaskier rearranges his head on Geralt's shoulder, settles even closer against him. "So, what's next?"

"Hmm. Sleep."

"I meant more long-term, dear," Jaskier says, fingers absently tracing a scar that runs down Geralt's pec. 

Geralt wants to tell Jaskier that they can do whatever he wants, still remembers Jaskier's suggestion to go to the coast with shame burning in his gut, but the reality is that they need coin and he needs to head north soon to get to Kaer Morhen for the winter to spend it with Ciri. And then, next spring, he has a mage to find and take care of.

"Darling. That wasn't supposed to be a hard question," Jaskier says softly. He turns his head up, nuzzles the underside of Geralt's jaw. "There's no right answer."

Geralt swallows and nods. "We need to head north soon," he says. 

"Do we?" Jaskier asks, sounding amused.

Geralt breathes slowly, tightens his arm around Jaskier. "Hmm. Go home for the winter," he says. _Come with me_ , he means. 

"Well, then. I will need to send word to Oxenfurt that I will not be teaching there this winter, won't I?" Jaskier replies, tone light.

"Yes," Geralt says, chest loosening with relief. "But there's time. The rest of autumn, to make coin for supplies and warmer clothes for you."

Jaskier scoffs. "I'm the most famous bard on the Continent. I can make more than enough to cover us, my dear," he says confidently, and Geralt can almost hear the grin in his voice.

"You're probably out of practice."

Jaskier lets out an indignant squawk and pushes himself up. "Out of—how _dare you_ , you rude, awful witcher!" he exclaims. He rolls on top of Geralt; perched above him, he pushes Geralt's hands above his head and pins them down and Geralt lets him, grinning up at him.

"What now?" he asks.

"You deserve to be punished for that," Jaskier says, glaring down at him _almost_ convincingly, the corners of his lips twitching. 

Geralt hums and hitches his hips up, pressing his half-hard cock against the firm swell of Jaskier's ass. "Yes," he agrees. 

"And I'm the incubus?"

"Hmm. Incubus. Siren. Nymph," Geralt murmurs. "Pretty and tempting. Making me crazy."

"I see. And how would letting you fuck me again be punishment then? Seems like that's something you would enjoy very much," Jaskier teases.

"Jask," Geralt groans.

Jaskier leans down, stopping just shy of kissing Geralt. "How about I fuck you instead, dear?"

"Fuck, yes," Geralt agrees, and Jaskier laughs and kisses him.

  
  
*  
  


Triss's house fades into the distance. Sitting on top of Roach, Geralt glances at Jaskier, walking by his side, doublet half undone and his cloak fluttering around him. 

Humming, Jaskier swings his lute around, settles it firmly in his hands and gives the strings a few plucks. "Do you mind?" he asks.

"No," Geralt says, and Jaskier's smile grows wider, happier. 

He starts a familiar tune, looking up at Geralt with a cheeky twist of his lips before he starts quietly singing the first few words of _Toss a Coin_. His eyes are twinkling with amusement, daring Geralt to complain.

Geralt just hums and smiles and for the first time since the mountain, being on the Path feels right again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/whispered_story) and [tumblr](https://whispered-story.tumblr.com/).


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